First Love

Besides physical acumen, you were really gifted in the academic realm as well. You were top of your class all along, and very competitive with other high achievers- especially as related to math. You were a natural, and got the grades to prove it. Chess you went crazy for about first or second grade and you loved and excelled at that as well. When we moved to California, you went bananas for computers...ahhh, the magic of Middle School electives. You LOVED computers and were like the classroom expert/teacher's aide/whatever. At home you were equally intense, and you relentlessly forced Dad into buying an ADAM computer. Absolute destiny, no?

Vacationing

Most of our vacations till we moved from Colorado were spent visiting Grandparents in Idaho or Illinois. Dad took you boys fishing and squirrel shooting where he grew up; I remember mostly cooking and doing dishes when we were up there, however. And the time I asked Grandma to show me how to clean fish. Eeewwww. Guess the guys were the ones who really did that though, so it was Dad who showed me. Never again. Never ever again.

About the time Treesje was born, I would convince Dad to take you older ones up there by himself and I would stay home with the babies. So I'm not sure what always went on, but I'm betting you have a few Bear Lake memories. How about playing cards till all hours with Grandma & Grandpa? Maybe that led to your love of board games, huh?

We went to Illinois about half as often because it was twice as far, but I remember taking you down the Fox River on like a ferry/steamboat one time. Somehow we joined a group on a day trip from the Nursing Home, and they sang their favorite old songs with such childlike enthusiasm, I couldn't stop crying. So I probably cured you of wanting to end up in a Nursing Home or on a boat. Another day, when you were probably 5, we drove up to Lake Geneva in Wisconsin to go swimming. A storm came up and it got cold and overcast, but I wouldn't let you out of the water because, darn it, we paid a whole $10 to go there, and come hell or high water, we were going to swim! GET BACK IN THAT WATER AND I MEAN NOW!! So that probably cured you of wanting to swim much ever again.... I'm sure I wiped out whole categories of entertainment for you with my good intentions. You probably did quite a bit better when you flew back there for a week or two by yourself when you were 8 or 9. At least I was out of your way, and your Grandparents and Aunts & Uncles could give you lots of individual attention and spoil you. Kind of a rare phenomenon for someone in our family.

In 1980 just a few weeks after Jordan was born, we went to a timeshare tour outside of Vail, CO, and realized while there that we weren't seeing enough of the country by only going to two states to visit Grandparents. So, we bought in, and in October of that year we were on our way to Ruidoso, New Mexico. Remember the huge tarantulas, the size of a man's hand, that would cross the highway as we tried to dodge them? Ughhhh. Once there, it was terrific to see the beauty all around. Dad took you to visit Smokey the Bear and to see Billy The Kid's old hangout. And we checked out the stunning Inn of the Mountain Gods, and took you to White Sands, the gorgeous dunes where you got your first chance to drive the car because no one else was around. But my favorite thing of all was the day we took you all horseback riding in the mountains with two Mescalero Apaches. We were the whole show that day (there are perks to going places off season), and these wild Indians were really into their roles. Dad had Treesje on her horse, I had baby Jordan on mine, and one of the Apaches had Willow on his, but the rest of you tykes were on your own, and we chased around with the wind that day. And not a broken bone in the crowd! My dream come true, if only for a day.

Keep goin'! So true, isn't it, that there are "miles to go before you sleep", and so much to see, to do, if you're lucky?

No Bones About It

Before we had kids, we trained on dogs (hamsters, too- till the mom ate all her newborns), so you never met our first babies, Easy and then Oink.

Still, you had your fair share of dogs growing up, well at least in your early years. Midnight, a Black Lab, was the first, I think. He was wonderful with you kids. You were around 2 when we got him, and he was perfectly patient with you. Once I remember you grabbed some scissors and were trying to cut his ear. He didn't even growl. Never a growl for you. But when I would bid him come in or go outside when he wasn't fond of my timing, I thought I'd be eaten alive.

Let's see, would Frog the Dog have been next in the lineup? Think so. Tiniest, cutest little something or other. Just a cuddle bug. Not. Looks can be deceiving. This mutt could rip your throat out, had he been able to reach it. He barked, and his bite was just as bad as his bark. We gave him to some friends who gave him to some friends who nobody has ever seen since. No, wait! I think the story goes that they got in trouble with Animal Control because Frog bit someone. Ribbit Ribbit.

Next came Hickory. Stunning Red Irish Setter. My diamond didn't shine as much as his coat. He was beautiful. Got him from a young woman who just couldn't handle him, even though she'd sent him to obedience school. He was convinced he was the eternal puppy, and lived to sit on people's laps. I never saw my Dad laugh as much as when he would come to visit and see this huge dog back himself into assorted laps. He would be sitting straight up, rear ensconced but front legs vertical, his head far above the designated lap's head, just waiting to be petted. He would do this all the time---even to 1 1/2 year old Jared---he'd just go plop down on top of him and think that was the natural order of things! Obviously Jared survived.

Hickory was a sweetheart. However, he was a boy, and would knock you down and kill you if you opened the front door when he was around. He had carousing in his blood and nothing and no one could stop him. Often I would put you kids in the car and spend the entire day chasing around after that blasted creature. One time it was raining and Hickory was running around town with a couple of other canine cohorts. I gave chase in the car, jumping out now and then to open the car door when I thought I had him cornered. All of a sudden the other many muddy dogs jumped in the little Subaru. Had to move heaven and earth to get them out. Arghhhh! Many times I would meet your Dad at the door in tears, moaning and groaning about how awful my day had been. No sympathy- he didn't get it.

Until. One Saturday he happened to be home when surprise---guess who shoved someone aside and raced out the door? We all got in the yellow car to give chase. Dad would corner the dog in a parking lot or field, only to have him slip by at the last second. It got more and more dramatic, if yelling and cussing are any indication. Have to admit I enjoyed sitting there and watching someone else go through all the gyrations and frustrations that had been my life up to that point. Eventually, we had to give him away---the dog, not your Dad---because the neighbors got to the end of their ropes, having him tear through their yards and gardens.

Then there was Puffy, little tiny black puffball of a dog. Cute as a button, quiet, no trouble. Finally the perfect dog. "And they lived happily ever after", right? Right. Until. One night Dad was taking you older kids to a movie, maybe even a Drive-In, while I stayed with the baby of the moment. Evidently he didn't see Puffy in time and ran right over him. Didn't tell you guys till you got back home, though. Guess he thought tears could wait. And that was the end of the family dog roster for many many years.

Against All Odds

One Friday night there had been an especially violent snowstorm, one of those once in a lifetime deals that only happens every decade or two, and the next day the city was paralyzed. Frozen on all levels. Everything was shut down, no traffic, all still on the western front. Except YOU and Jared were convinced in the very marrow of your bones that no matter what, somehow SOCCER must go on! You were probably around 8, and I swear that's assuredly not the age of reason at all. You were so impassioned/obnoxious about it, that it was easier for me to get in the car and risk our lives trying to drive to your non-existent games than to listen to you (think you'll always be more stubborn than I).

Miraculously I managed to get us all the way to Ft. Logan, where you were scheduled to play, and you guys were absolutely incredulous that not another soul was in sight on the field. Or off for that matter. We never saw even one other car on the road-probably babies even had to be born at home-but the game must go on, right? But there we were, 3 lone humans in a surreal snow globe. By all rights, I should have had my Mom license revoked at that point. (And a few times since...if we're getting technical)

By George, You Can Do It!

On our longggggggg cul de sac, Bellewood Dr. in Englewood, there was a boy a few years older than you, maybe 10. George definitely marched to a different drummer, and neighborhood kids made fun of him. You and Afton were kind to him. We talked about how that was important, and it pleased me that you would stand up for him. I mistakenly thought it was a one way street, we more "normal" ones looking out for the "less normal".

Then one day George came up the cul de sac looking to make a little money. For some reason, I was in the front yard watching as he went methodically door to door to see if anyone needed their lawn mowed. I must have seen him try at least 7 or 8 houses before he reached ours at the apex. He was sweating and smiling, both profusely, as he asked if we needed his help. Unfortunately, Dad had just cut ours. "George", I said, "why not turn off your lawn mower till you get hired and save a little gas?" It had been going full blast his entire journey. "Naw, that's ok," he said, "I know somebody is going to need me!" And, still smiling broadly, off he went with his noisy lawn mower to the next door neighbor. What a great lesson he taught me about how to live life. No holdin' back, playin' it safe. What an attitude.

Yeah, George wasn't too normal. Not at all.

Faintly Familiar

Our family has a penchant for passing out. I think almost all of us have participated in this sport at one time or another, some more than others. Two triggers- excessive heat, excessive squeamishness.

One time, one of you had to have stitches- another favorite family pastime- so our family Pediatrician, Dr. Guard, had the injured party on a gurney in the ER at Swedish Medical Center in Englewood, CO. Pretty soon, one of you "survivors" keeled over and hit the floor as you were watching. Dr. Guard summoned the nurse to call for another gurney to be brought in. In the blink of an eye, another one of you bit the dust, and Dr. Guard had to call for another gurney to be brought into the room. And then again. And again. Five gurneys lined up in a row. Wish they'd had video cameras or even cell phone cameras back in the day. It was like Dominoes. Doctor bill=hundreds, ER bill=hundreds more, full house fainting spree=priceless!

The Fun Has Just Begun

So not every day can be Christmas, but we tried to make childhood fun for you everyday in as many ways as we could. One of those ways was to try and make your surroundings a cool playground. So when we moved to our second house (maybe you were 4?), we had the basement finished- the highlight being a wall of bookshelves, one part of which was a huge secret door. It looked just as immovable as the rest of the wall, but was on piano hinges and, when opened, revealed a secret hiding place---your closet! We copied the idea from Stronghold Castle on the Rock River in Oregon, Illinois where Jan & Reid had been married the year before. We had all been taken with the library bookcase that moved to give access to a secret passageway to a hidden Chapel.



http://www.dupontcastle.com/castles/strongho.htm

Probably our favorite things to do was to escape to the mountains, so we decided to turn our new backyard into a mountain paradise. The yard was mammoth, because of a steep hill at the rear of the back yard. It had a magnificent view of the town. We planted lots of pine, created meandering gravel paths through the trees which converged on the firepit in the very center of our hill. There we could have dutch oven meals, marshmallow roasts---some of our favorite things to do in the Rockies.

The third, and last, house we bought in Littleton we were at for only a year, or maybe two. The week before we moved out and on to Seattle, our workers finally finished the basement. The entire thing was a huge rec room-the focus being a raised stage that took up the far wall-a Cultural Hall replica without the basketball court. We had such plans! But kept moving on, always with the hope of new experiences, more fun! At least that was the plan.

Tell Me The Story Of Jesus

With Family Home Evenings, daily prayer, Church, and Christ's teachings just a part of life, we thought we were helping to lay a foundation of faith for our kids from day one. (Perchance some of it might even rub off on the adults, wouldn't you think?) I had just assumed we were of the same cloth, so to speak, and that it was US, you know, the GROWN UPS, leading by precept and example.

Then that one day, when I saw clearly what was what and who was who. You and Afton and I were out in our little yellow Subaru, and why we were in a subdivision with hills that sloped at 90 degrees I have no idea. Did I say 90 degrees? Maybe much more, couldn't even see the top of the hill from the bottom of it. And snow and cold to boot. But there we were, and the little engine that could, just couldn't anymore when we reached ground zero (bottom of the hill which seemed like below sea level, and here we were in the Mile High City!). Oh, sure I tried gunning it over and over, over and over, over and over, and the engine never even turned, never made a sound. Waited and waited. Repeated and repeated. Frustrated and more frustrated, angrier and angrier--- me, not the car. Did everything in my power to move that mountain. Well, I was willing to settle for moving up that mountain, but either way.  No apparent way to get help. I was beaten.

Then Afton piped up in the backseat, "We need to say a prayer."  Did I mention I was angry?  Now I was angry-annoyed. Here I was cornered, probably by my own words of wisdom from the comfort of my living room, and now my little kids were about to see Jesus' limitations before they ever got to kindergarten!  Way to go, Mom. "Yeah, go ahead, you say it," I sputtered (which was more than I could get the car to do at this point).  We bowed our heads and you guys prayed . A child's prayer. I lip synced "Amen" with heavy heart. The 5 seconds were over too soon, and I was trying to find a reasonable explanation to share about why Jesus was just too busy with some really important things and so he couldn't be bothered with our problems at the time, but He was still real, just preoccupied. Me, trying to save face for the Israelite.  Bet he appreciated that.   "Go," you both said, before I could open my mouth to defend the Divine.  Reluctantly I turned the key in the ignition for the 84th time. The engine revved with no hesitation and we sped to the top of the hill like a race car. You guys with big grins, me with tears.

They tell us adults to watch for teaching moments so we can teach the children. HA!

Welcome, welcome, King of Kings!

Juxtaposition

Another Denver memory is how you and Jared would mark the seasons. As the weather warmed up when you guys were young, you would switch to wearing long sleeved shirts for some reason. Sometimes you would even wear two at the same time in the summer. According to that logic you would predictably start wearing shorts and short sleeves as soon as it was snowing. You guys would go out to the backyard in a storm and build snow forts and caves and then put on swimming trunks to go play in them and throw snowballs. I don't know, so don't ask.

Coaches' Pet

You did love your sports, and it was interesting to hear from especially your soccer coaches just how extraordinary you were. That you actually understood the game, strategy, the whole 9 yards. You started playing at 5 and were never ego driven, or just out for your own glory like all the rest. You wanted your team to win the game and you knew how to do it. The coaches felt like you were more like an adult, one of their peers. Not just the skills and talent, but the mind. They thought you were pretty remarkable. So did we.

My Sister's Keeper

One of my favorite photos, or maybe it's only a memory, is of greeting Afton at the Stapleton Airport when she returned from Illinois by herself. You had missed her so much, so very much. She was 7, you 6, and we were walking behind you as we went through the terminal, you with your arm protectively, lovingly around her shoulder. You looked like miniature grown ups. Sooo sweet. My first airport tears.

Takes One To Know One

You had willpower early on. Imagine that. Even though I started out parenting with some basic parameters as far as food went- like no white bread or sugar cereals allowed- you were a born sugar addict. Frequently, I would walk you to the 7/11 to buy you candy rather than suffer one of your tantrums. But then around 4 or 5 you became a health addict instead, and gave up all of that for a time. Think you grasped the idea along the line that athletes had to be healthy to be strong and fast. You had vision. You took it seriously, and for a few years there, you really towed the line, even though no one else joined in. (That was pretty much over by the time we moved to California and I started Fat Fridays, remember?)

Dad more than once told me when I was despairing of kid stubbornness that it was just a matter of how it was applied---said it was a major strength to be stubborn in the cause of good and great things. The aggravating part is that kids pretty much decide what to be stubborn about, and we're all really kids for much of our lives, if we can get away with it, right?

Biggest Fan

You thought I was remarkable too.  A remarkable cook.  That made you a majority of one.  You would feel so bad when your Dad would criticize my cooking, I think his attempts were supposed to be funny, maybe.  Maybe not.  But you would feel badly for me and try to compensate for the digs.  You would always find a way to try to build me up even though you were just a preschooler.  I was never Julia Child, but that didn't stop you.  With such sparkling eyes, you would look at me and say things like, "Mommy, you make the best hot dogs in the world!"  Or, "That was the best glass of milk ever!" Any little thing.  Just melted me that you could be so thoughtful, so tender.  What a keeper!

No Kryptonite In Sight

Christmas=Superpowers! Matching Superman flannel blue jammies. With capes! You and Jared, in all your awesomeness, totally believing you could fly. With hugest grins you would be poised on top of desks and other assorted furniture in an effort to get airborne. Undaunted when you merely hit the floor (at least it was heavily carpeted!), you would mount again and again to give it the old preschool try. Gosh, it must be fun to be young and live in that everything is possible world....

Worked For You

Small for your age, your size worked for you, especially with adults who always were surprised that you could do so much when you were so little. You took swimming lessons, ice skating lessons, played sports even as a preschooler, and you were always a favorite with those teachers and adults. You had a gift, a physical grace and prowess to begin with, which helped. But because you were smaller than the other kids in your groups, I think the teachers credited you with exceptional heart and courage as well. Pays to be cute, huh?

Never Fails

My favorite trick of yours, traffic control! About 2 1/2, or whenever you understood that green means go, you took it to mean that it was your responsibility, your absolute POWER, to change red lights to green. Yes, your first taste of power, and you were drunk with it. This was before the days of seatbelts and car seats, so you would be standing up in the back seat of the car (yes, I know), and when we would stop for a red light, you would jump into action. I do mean "Jump!" Up and down and up and down and up and down...as hard and as fast as you could. Till magically, that old light would turn to green! Every single time. You were indefatigable in meeting the challenge of red lights and making them change. You'd just keep jumping for however long it took, till you could pull it off. You may have been yelling, "Green, green, green" and thinking it was the jumping and the incantation that cast a spell and made it all materialize, but I had a strong hunch it was all those amazing sparkles from your saucer brown eyes that made all that magic.

The Perfect Brother

While we're on the subject of your sister, did I mention I sometimes wondered if you would ever utter a word if she hadn't first said it? There were times I pictured that they would think you were mute when you started kindergarten, even college, if she weren't around to prime you first. Eventually you got beyond that, but she was so the apple of your eye for a couple of years there that you repeated every word she said. Not only that, she knew her powers over you and could get you to clean up her room for her or do her bidding whenever she wanted. Ah, if only you hadn't outgrown that phase, she could sure put you to work now!

ETJ

When you were a toddler, it was Afton you put on a pedestal. Maybe you wanted to do all the things she did. You lived to please her. I remember when we lived in tiny Sheridan, CO., and I would take both of you on walks around the neighborhood after dinner. She was competitive and always wanted to be out front, the indisputable leader. But there are trade offs in life. You must have signed a non-compete clause, letting her have her way without a quibble, and you learned to take your time, smell the roses, look at the pebbles or cracks in the sidewalk, and check out the bugs as we went our way. "Enjoy the journey"-your motto, long before it became popular.

Makes Me Smile...Again

My favorite happy memory of you was the winter when you were likely 3. Our first house had a big hill in the backyard and, one day when it was covered in snow, I took you guys out there on a sled for a brief white interlude. It was fun, exhilarating, but after awhile I was winded from pulling the sled and you guys uphill, and we headed in. Except for you, you stayed at the bottom of the hill and, with a dazzling smile, said, "One more time!" No way to say no to that, so I obliged. You were in heaven on your way down, laughing all the way. And then you said in the same irresistible way, "One more time!" I was captive, regardless of how tired I was. To see someone that thrilled and delighted was a payoff beyond measure. But somehow, each time you said those three magic words, I thought you literally meant "just one more time". Then after many, many, many repeats, I was close enough to catch you at the bottom of the hill on your latest run and hear you say, "One more time!" And then so softly under your breath I barely heard, "again and again and again." Freezing, exhausted, but how I LOVED THAT DAY! Wish you could have lots of highs like that the rest of your life....

Body Art

Then there was the time, probably around 2 years old, when the idea occurred to you to take things to the next level by enhancing your body... with stamps. Well sure. Where did that come from? Had you heard about green stamp redemption deals? Were you sending yourself through the mail? Or were you a tattoo wannabe? Who knows? But when I saw you had stripped all your clothes off and covered every inch, and yes, I do mean EVERY inch, of your oh so soft tender skin with stamps that you had licked and pasted on, I tried to stop laughing long enough to take a picture. Miraculously, I managed. You were all smiles and proud of yourself at the time. Me? Figured I could blackmail you 10 or 20 years down the road. Now if only I could find that darn photo....

Hugs To You

More from our Denver years. You were exceptionally loving, overwhelmingly affectionate. Often at night, even though you were a bitty toddler, you would wrap your arms tightly around my neck after I finished your bedtime story and pull me down on your pillow and just SQUEEEEEZZZE while you told me you loved me. How often did I nearly pass out? Sometimes I could no longer breathe, such an unlikely boa constrictor! Gave literal impact to the "I love you to death" declaration...even though you stopped with "I love you so much!", I wondered if sometimes that would be my last gasp.

Babysitter's Club

Ok, another one I'll email to you if you'd like.

...To Spite Your Face

When I was 13, I was a Candystriper, volunteering all my time at St. Joseph Hospital. Had some interesting opportunities and experiences there, one of which was "running" the ER in the basement. It was a tiny 2 table enterprise, and mainly I just had to be there waiting for trouble to show up so I could call the residents and nurses down from the 4th floor (Surgery), then buzz around getting out surgical trays, doing their bidding whatever. I was remarkably poised-I have no idea how-and I calmly handled everything from auto accidents to BBQ burns to DOAs. But then one day they brought in a tiny baby whose little nose had been severed, and I lost it.(My composure, not the nose.) I was in tears and had to leave the room as they sutured it back on. My only breakdown.

Fast forward about 13 more years, and I was on my way outside to hang laundry on the line. You were about 18 months old. We were spending a month in a small old rental while our first home was being finished, and the place had a side door to the backyard. There was a porch, with 4 or 5 steps, but no railings. As I opened the screen door with the laundry basket in my arms, I didn't see you there, and nonchalantly knocked you totally off it. When I picked you up, I was horrified to see your nose torn completely off on one side, and only hanging by a small thread of skin on the other. Normally I'm a rock in a crisis, but not this time! I was beside myself. Fortunately, we had company visiting with us that week---Aunt Jan, Aunt Pam, maybe Aunt Cindy. Together they took control and remained calm enough to call your Dad, who came home and took us to the doctor. They called in a surgeon to do the honors, and he was so distracted by my overt distress that he was more concerned about my condition than yours.

I have no idea if I'd had some kind of a premonition all those years before and so had reacted dramatically then, or if I was conditioned by the initial experience and hence reacted so strongly the next time I saw it. Either way, my cup of guilt overfloweth---"cutting off your nose to spite your face" is still a hurtful phrase to me. It was just the beginning for your face tho, guess you have much bigger scars and stories to tell now....

1 Little Monkey, Jumping On The Bed

Sorry, but this is one you have to ask to for. Just email me. It's all good, just private for friends and family.

What A Shock!

Unbelievably, within months that shock of black hair was replaced with shockingly blond tresses. (In the summers, till you were out of elementary school, your hair turned as absolutely white as platinum blond hair can get.) Actually, it looked amazing! So much so that I refused to get it cut. Think when you were maybe 1 1/2 or 2, Dad took you for your first haircut, and I was devastated when you guys came back. It looked like you had been inducted into the Military! I felt sick that I had lost my baby; so soon it was grown long again.

Then came the summer we were up in Geneva, Idaho at Grandpa & Grandma Sleights-you were maybe 3. An older lady wandered from the back of the store-which was the front of their house-to the living room, for some unknown reason. She was startled when she saw you, and said to me, "Awwww, how cute! What's her name?" Thinking this stranger would figure it out on her own, I simply replied, "Adam". With a bemused smile on her face, she turned to leave, shaking her head and muttering, "Such a strange name for a girl."

I got used to getting your haircut after that, at least a little....

Winging It

Your first air flight was across the Atlantic when you were less than 6 months old. You, me, and your 15 month old big sister. A wild ride, pretty much a horror movie of sorts, with everything going wrong(see Nov.16, 2009 post for all the gory details: http://justmefallingapart.blogspot.com/2009/11/afton-murphys-law.html). To be sure, we didn't crash into the ocean, but there were times I had almost preferred that. We were pretty beat when we got to Kennedy Airport, where things took a turn for the worse. We lost Afton in the airport, one of our suitcases broke and spilled all over the floor after we finally got through Customs, yada, yada.  Not a soul would help, so it was a little daunting. 

Without missing a beat, I got us on the flight to Minnesota instead of Illinois and didn't realize it till we were disembarking in the wrong state (at least I had us heading in the right direction. Does that count?) By the time we got to Chicago, we were a bit dazed after our 30 hour ordeal. Grandma Mudgie says she'll never forget how she held you in her arms all the way home to Elgin with your eyes glazed, unblinking, staring as if in total shock and disbelief. But everything always works out in the end...life's ultimate lesson.

First Impressions

So I'm adding the memories I recalled of Adam's early years for his 40th. How about one a day so as not to overwhelm? There are a couple he asked me not to post because of internet privacy, but I can email those to family, if interested. Just send me a request. Here goes:


As soon as you were born, I was taken with your olive coloring, fine features and crown of black hair. Can a boy be beautiful? Well you were. And equally disarming was your serene personality. Your big eyes took everything in, swallowed whole, with equanimity. Sometime along the way later that disposition changed a bit. And eventually you trained me to give in to your whims earlier rather than later...to avoid the sensational drama you could create. But as a little baby, you and I seemed oblivious to what was to come, and we took long serene walks with 1 year old Afton for hours in the German countryside and villages we lived in, till we moved back to the States that Spring. Off to a great start!

The Big 4-0, Adam!

Must have been a Saturday, as I clearly remember being on base (Army) at the PX with Dad and baby Afton, and on the way back to our little place in Herrlingen, Germany, I started feeling a little strange. By the time we unloaded our little old VW, Adam appeared to be in a hurry to make his debut. Dad took Afton downstairs and put her in the care of Herr & Frau (I forget), our congenial landlords, and we were off to the races.

And race we did, there was the train coming down the track in town, and dad drove up on the sidewalk to avoid being stopped by the crossing gate which was coming down to halt traffic. We sped to the little clinic in Neu Ulm, and the Dr. was incredulous that I opted to drive with Dad in the beat up VW, rather than be shepherded in the military ambulance, but I didn't want to give birth without him again, so we got on the Autobahn and sped to Augsburg.

It was evening, and the Chief of OB was at a Halloween party. He didn't take kindly to being interrupted, but he showed up sans costume, except his Dr. one. The nurse, however, was from central casting. Old, grizzled, and in combat boots in the delivery room! Perfect.

The Dr. was further annoyed when I crawled off the table as he began to examine me. "Never mind," he said as he called for anesthesia. "NO!" I pleaded. "I want to have this baby totally naturally."

The Dr. was disgusted with me. "Look," he said, "you're no officer's wife, I don't have to stay here with you. I can just leave." He stood up and started for the door.

"It's important to me," I said. We were not off to a good start. He left me with Colonel Combat Boots, and I was wheeled into L & D (Labor & Delivery Room), inhumanely strapped into stirrups, and again, we were off to the races. Guess he had a change of heart, cause he stayed in his Dr. costume and played the part like it was scripted.

I so wanted to prove I could do this and not deserve any further ire, that we spent the 20 minutes or so until the baby was born telling jokes, and the 5 of us (Dr, Nurses, Dad & Mom) were pretty much hysterically laughing at the time of birth. Because the Dr. for whatever reason wanted to speed things up a bit (was he hoping to get back to the party?), he used forceps to pull on the little head. Not a friendly gesture for any of us. When the baby's shoulders emerged, I did become acutely aware of the process, but just winked at the Dr. and asked, "Do you mind if I say 'Ouch' right about now?" Permission granted, but it felt a little anticlimatic, a bit silly to say it out loud, so it was more of a loud whisper-"ouch".

And then the telling moment. "It's a boy!" I was so surprised, I blurted out, "But how will I take care of a boy??" (I grew up as one of 4 girls, this was a foreign life form to me.) "Change him quicker," said the Doc.

Then I saw the perfect little round face, the huge eyes, the crown of dark hair. And I melted. How could life ever be better than this moment?

Beaming. Dad had a real life son now, our family was complete (or so we thought at the time), perfect.

I became the Dr.'s star patient; he came in the Recovery room and spent nearly half an hour massaging my leg, which wouldn't stop shaking after it was all said and done. Adrenaline, I guess. We became best friends and he would tell our story to the others he brought by on rounds the next couple of days, and brag how it was his funnest birth ever. (The Hospital Pediatrician assured me the scar the forceps had left on his face would be a lifetime mark, but there was nothing that could be done. It disappeared in less than 6 months.)

Adam was Germany's newest little citizen and Dad sent telegrams back to the Grandparents in the States. If happiness can be tangible, it was--in October, 40 years ago!

Another Year!

Just a nod to a certain California blonde on her birthday. A beautiful girl in a beautiful place. Well, actually out of that place today, but hopefully enjoying herself and celebrating a day-and a life-forever special to me.

Earlier this year I was able to spend a few months with both these ladies in Paradise and know what an eventful ride this year was turning into. Here's hoping you can coast a little for awhile, and just eat cake. Or at least have a tension releasing food fight! Remember those days? (And Fat Fridays??)

Happy Birthday, Afton!
(I'll bring the cake)

Trust Me

I have a wedding coming up in 3 weeks! 3 weeks! Well, not mine actually, but my son's. Way too young to get married, and she's a mere baby, but they are such a cute couple.




Anyway, in anticipation of that event in Utah...
I am humbly reminded of my niece's wedding in Chicago about 5 years ago. They knocked themselves out to create an unforgettable experience for their guests as well as themselves, but unfortunately the totally indelible aspect I can't forget no matter how hard I try is the transportation one. You see, I drove. Rented a car all on my own and fancied myself a big girl. In the driver's seat, so to speak. Although not previously known for my prowess with directions and all, on the road or even in the house (often I would get lost at home trying to get back to the kitchen from the bathroom), I was confident that I could easily get around there, having grown up in the Garden Spot of the Midwest. Kind of primal instinct, no?

Not wanting to show off though, I believe I followed son-in-law Shane's van from the airport to the hotel the first day. Then drove the entire distance across town to Midway that evening to pick up my son Jared, who had flown in from San Diego. Figured he must have been terribly impressed with how I navigated Lake Shore Drive, and got us to the rehearsal dinner at the downtown restaurant. A little aggravation parking, and that was it. I was feeling goooooooood. So when it was time to return to our hotels, I nobly scooped a few tired souls into my car to ferry them the half hour or so to their waiting beds. I think it was lovely daughters Afton & Treesje who joined us.

Three or four hours later, we ambled in. Not to bore with the details, but suffice it to say, every freeway I got on, I was determined that I knew the way, no matter what anyone else said. From the Indiana border to the Wisconsin one, I always knew I had to be going in the right direction. After all, I grew up here. It was in my blood to know.

The first hour or so, my passengers were politely questioning me. But as time wore on, nerves were on edge. Found out daughter Torrey & son-in-law Chris had stayed at the hotel with the one year old twins, and were waiting for us to bring them dinner. A little pressure. By 1 am, when we were pulling up to their hotel, the girls had relapsed and were silently fuming, when Jared jumped out of the car before I stopped, cussed and threw his suitcase to the ground, clothes spilling into the moonlight. What's life without a little drama?

The next day I think everyone else somehow managed to get other rides to the historic Catholic Church. Me? Undaunted, I made it by myself there in plenty of time. Luck can change,right? And following the ceremony, I needed to leave to make another airport run. This time for #4 son Wayne, who also flew from San Diego, so he could at least make the reception. He called me when he got in and I told him I was circling the pick up route. "Oh, is that you behind the white van?" he inquired. "No, see me, I'm behind the black Mercedes." His reply, "You mean you're the dark red Mazda behind the bus?" "No, Wayne, I'm over here, see me behind the tan SUV? I'm the blue Olds." "Don't see you Mom." "Where on earth are you Wayne, you said you were standing right out here?" "I am, right out here at O'Hare with everyone else." "O'Hare? You're not supposed to be at O'Hare. You're supposed to be here across town at Midway, just like Jared was last night." In hindsight, I suppose communication is a valid concept. My sister Dianne and her husband were dispatched to pick him up at O'Hare. Good thing family is family, and good family at that.

So I turned around and headed back East to the other side of town to apologize and turn over my car keys. About an hour later the signs on the side of the road indicated I was almost to Iowa. Had a recent tornado relocated the state to the other side of Illinois? Not sure of that, I decided to turn around. Unfortunately the car wreck of the decade had just made turning around impossible and a huge traffic snarl to boot prevented movement any way at all. After a huge delay I managed to get off onto some other road and with a hit and miss strategy, I patchworked my way back to the hotel just in time to leave for the reception. No one was amused by my absence of many hours, echoes of the personal approval I had engendered only the night before. An executive decision was made--I believe several "executives" were involved, and it was unanimous, and I was not allowed to drive the 2 miles to Brookfield Zoo, site of the reception, by myself. I unceremoniously plopped in someone's back seat. You could call it functional. Or perhaps, hostile.

Now the only reason I mention this at all is that with this Utah wedding looming, I want people to know, I have learned my lesson. Let me just reassure you all. I am not renting a car. I'm driving my own. And for general information, I didn't grow up in Utah. I went to college there 40 some years ago, and even though I didn't drive then or even get around campus much, I do know my way around all of Utah. You can safely ride with me. I guarantee it. It's in my blood.

Lookin' Good

In one of my frugal moments a couple years ago, I went and rescued a professional esthetician product case from Torrey's garbage when she was moving from her house and clearing out. It was a really nice large suitcase type thing with internal compartments, and I figured it cost her hundreds when she was in esthetician school. I couldn't bear to just have it tossed; so under cover of dark, I grabbed it from the sidewalk and took it home. She had left some products in there, which I logically reassigned to my bathroom. One was a generous size jar of optimal tinted conditioning cream. It was particularly heavy, and evidently had never been used. I threw it under the sink, thinking someday if I ever went blonde again, it might be appropriate.

Well, yesterday I decided that "appropriate" might as well mean finally using it up, and seeing if this stuff would change the color of my dark hair. I mean, live on the wild side. There were no directions on how to use it, how long to leave it on, etc. Maybe it was like a mask and should stay in for 30 mins? So I took it into the shower, and after washing my long brown locks, I took gobs of this thick creamy light tan stuff and slathered throughout my hair. It felt really strange, not like my hair was getting silky and untanglely at all.

Immediately I had an AHA moment. It occured to me that conditioning cream and conditioner just might not be synonyms after all. For some reason when I first saw this jar I had thought it was for hair because of the size of it. Even though it plainly said moisturizer. For two years, it stayed a hair product in my mind. Till I put it on my hair.

Four times I washed my hair to try and get it out. The shower floor stubbornly stayed light tan for a prolonged time. My hair is still not the same, and wants to know when I will go ahead and try adding highlights with rescued lipstick.

How does one get SOOOO old and stay SOOOOOOOO dumb?

Well, even if my hair is a little on the lame side this week, my face is in heaven. I never tried tinted cream moisturizer before, and it is amazing! This is called "Supreme Secrets" by Janssen Cosmeceutical Care, made in Germany. I feel it takes off 10 years, even if it is full of ingredients I can't pronounce. Just wish I'd tried it sooner!

So thank you, Torrey. I don't know how I ever got it into my head that you were once upon a time a hairdresser. But that's the "magic" of being me; not just thinking outside the box, but living there. In a very scary place.

And Would You Like To Be A ....?

Watching the squirrel one day, and fascinated as I was by his movements, it suddenly hit me that if the Hindu paradigm could ever be established as "it" in the universe, I would opt out of reincarnating on Earth as a rodent. Even an adorable one. Lots of other less desirable paths as well, at least to my mind. I turned to Mom and blurted, "I'm coming back as a horse, just so you know, if the Eastern religions prevail. A wild horse. Just FYI."

Now Mom is about as into Eastern religion as much as I am, probably for different reasons, but she played along when I asked her what she would want to come back as, should she be reincarnated. "A dog; I'd like to be petted all the time."

I'd not asked for any specifics, but oh! the insight that gave. Seeing as I was giving her 2 hour massages every night, the petting was obvious.

Made me think about why the wild horse was the immediate image that came to my mind. Having always loved horses, it seemed so natural. But the intoxication of racing through life, wind in your hair, adrenalin in your heart, freedom in your nostrils; what could beat that?

Never having been one for psychology, numerology, or the like, I was a little intrigued nonetheless, at how we were pretty in touch with our own identities. Astrology and all those endless magazine tests that "reveal" what your favorite color says about you have always been so much hocus pocus to me. But in thinking of this animal connection, it's only me telling me about myself. Nobody imposing their notions on me. No right or wrong, no pressure. Not totally definitive, but interesting nonetheless.

So the next person I asked, answered "Quail." Unusual, no? But the reason he immediately proffered was, "I like belonging, the feeling of family."

So 3 for 3. I think it's an interesting momentary exercise. What's the first thing that came to your mind about what you'd choose if you could when you first started reading this? Why?

Doris

110 degrees this afternoon, but feels like twice that. I am unloading my Albertson's shopping cart and the minute the things are transferred to my car, I am overtaken by the nefarious urge to enter said vehicle and turn on the air conditioning and try to revive myself before the 5 block trip home.

Unwillingly, I notice the cart corral off in the distance. Blasted peripheral vision. There are no cars in the vicinity, and fleetingly I let myself off the hook. "Stupid to have to push this cart all the way down there, when it's obstructing nothing. Just farther away for the guys to go to round it up later," I mutter to the oppressive superheated concrete. As I grab the handle and head for the cart camping ground, I notice another couple of carts here and there, and grab their hot little hands as well as we promenade on down to the finish line. I curtsy and take leave of the carts.

"What an utter waste of energy and time," myself tells myself. And I agree. But what else could I do? Ever since that night in Vista, CA a couple of decades ago.

It was midnight. And I was shopping at the grocery store in my usual daze of trying to accomplish it all (I tend to run a few hours, perhaps days, behind everyone else, but it's not a race, right?). As I left the practically empty store with my valuables, there she was, bringing her cart all the way back to the inside of the store.

"Doris," I said, "hi there, what on earth are you doing? It's midnight; dark out, see? For heaven's sake, you shouldn't be out here alone, much less returning a dumb cart!"

"Oh," she blushed, "I just hate to think of those young boys out here having to worry about taking care of this."

I smiled, and shook my head. You see, Doris was about 80, diabetic, fragile in a dozen ways; she could barely walk, even with the help of her cane. She lived in a small trailer park, and had lived a very hard life. Everyone should have been worried about taking care of her. But in a very small and humble way she taught me a very big and important lesson. Caring. What a way to live.

See, Doris. This one's for you. You're long gone. But not forgotten.

"And I Think To Myself, What a Wonderful World"

Leaving Chicago any minute. Jet engines are revved. We are all dutifully seatbelted in, electronic devices off.

Even though it's exciting to anticipate seeing loved ones I have missed this entire month, these 30 days have brought the loved ones I miss most of the year even closer. And so it's hard to go.

Hard as well to leave the layers and layers of resplendent green here as I race back to the desert. Having spent the previous 3 months in San Diego, seduced and spoiled by the lush palms, jacarandas, acacias, bougainvillea, and jasmine, I am stunned to realize that very scenery pales next to the irrepressible smorgasbord of botanical excess in the Garden Spot of the Midwest. That being my hometown of Elgin, Illinois and its surrounding environs. In all modesty.

I'm not talking here about the manicured trees and tulips on the Magnificent Mile in Chicago; I'm talking about the infinite timbered vistas assailing your eyes as you drive along myriad highways and byways, gleaming river ribbons teasing their way through the verdant opulence. Where man has not cleared and built, the emerald forests are relentless. And on the streets where homes have been planted less recently, there, arboreal majesty holds sway; often there are streets where lofty green gloved branches reach out to hold hands above, and shady canopies seamlessly dapple the persistent sunlight below.

The wonder I feel as my thirsty eyes drink in this green profusion is on par with the awe I experience when losing myself in the vastness and color of the Grand Canyon, being transfixed by the monumental impact of "purple mountains majesty," or being seduced by the hypnotic evermore of the crashing ocean waves.  How so much beauty, surrounding us, cradling us, thrilling us, could ever have come to be, so infinite and spectacular, if not from a source so infinite, so spectacular itself?

These must be the storybook lands of Snow White, Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty. The mysterious forests of fairytales. No?  Not technically, I guess.  But. These vast and powerful armies of maple and oak, sycamore and ash, elm and pine and more are vibrant and virile as the Alpine forests and the Buchenwald (Black Forest) itself which soared my heart in those Old World lands I lived in long ago.

But it's here and now the summer glory finds my vision, feeds my spirit. And all that's required of me is to be still.  Notice the willows?  Oh, those weeping willows!  Unrivaled elegance.  The immensity of grace. Giants here fed generously by river and rain.  Could Eden have been so arrayed?  Punctuated by droves of lily, purple sage, bright geranium, delicate Queen Ann's lace, peony, pansy, petunia and on and on and on.  Staggering diversity, finally triumphant. Replete with exuberant sound track... choirs of birds of every stripe attired in multicolored robes. Here a pair of bright red cardinals, there a sunny yellow finch.

Life. Loving itself.

I'll be back.

Much Ado About....

School days, school days. Remember good old fashioned chalkboards, and those random moments when the chalk would screech across the board and mount a surprise physical assault, making you shudder in pain and driving you into fits of apoplexy?

There are other forms of attack in the here and now. It has recently come to my attention that I may err slightly on the side of over reacting when accosted by my favorite phrase of the moment, "Enjoy!" Uttered by virtually every waitress, waiter, server from Vegas to Venice, I suppose.  Inevitably has the opposite effect on me, and ruins my meal, if not my day.  Chalk moment.  How I have come to dread eating out.

How could such an innocuous word, one designed to bring pleasure and delight straight to the heart, spear a shard of discontent to my rebellious soul? Am I simply and resolutely determined to never smile?

Perhaps.

BUT. Truth is, I can manage an upturned mouth for most other occasions. I have a benevolent soul and am civil and polite under most circumstances. So why does this one word send me over the cliff?

I think it began a year ago, when out for dinner at a new little Italian restaurant in Henderson. Maybe the waitress just had a little extra time on her hands to "make nice", seeing as there were only two guys at another table in the corner, and they may well have worked there. "Enjoy!" she exclaimed as she seated us. Sure enough, hon, I'm up for it. Fact is, that's seriously why I'm here. Go figure.

She brought us menus. "Enjoy!" as she sashayed on her way. Well why not? I thought. I had secretly kind of planned to do that anyway, encouragement or not.

Yet again, after she took our order and brought out bread sticks. "Enjoy!" Look, is there some kind of a chance I will momentarily sink into utter despair if I am not urged to do otherwise? Does it appear that I have just been liberated from a concentration camp and have to make up for time lost during repeated torture? Could she divine that I had lost touch, forgotten how? Bless her heart, for reaching out and rescuing me from falling back into the pit!

Bet you can't guess what she said when she brought us our food. Yep. Just in case we forgot to all on our own. Had she detected my enjoyment level ebbing, one more time? Had she intervened at the critical moment and administered emotional CPR and saved the day? The pressure had built. I savored every bite. With all my might. Didn't dare not to. Trying to keep my mouth closed and chew with an enthralling smile plastered from ear to ear.

And then, the check. This latest light of my life waltzed over with the damages, and radiantly beaming at us, handed it over with the admonishment, "Enjoy!"

Seriously?

I suppose it's anticlimatic to add the parting word thrown our way as we departed this haven of delight.

Well, rock my world. Back from the brink. I could not have had such a stellar evening without her constant exhortation to so do. How do you even begin to thank someone who so mindlessly takes to heart your welfare?

Is it just me? Or are they enjoining you as well to sidle up to the table of life and get with the program? I maintain they are reaching out to all humanity in this selfless effort. Ladies and gentlemen, it is the cloned waitpersons/servers of the restaurants of the world, who make all the difference, who have taken it upon themselves to save us from ourselves, and the grim possibility of having to experience any disenjoyment or unenjoyment of any sort. One person; one. same. simple. word. at. a. time.

From that moment on, I have had, shall we say, an adverse reaction to the E word. Screeching chalk on the chalkboard. Call it an allergy, if you will. Whenever a server spits it out, I recoil and have flashbacks of being strapped to the Labor & Delivery Table in the Hospital, in an extreme condition, with an all knowing male, of course, Dr. spewing the R word. ("Relax") As if.

Sure, I'm a humbug. Nevertheless. These one word exclamations. Command performances, are they not? Stop. Go. Smile. Sing. Shutup (had to make it one word or blow my premise). Look, take it for granted that if I'm tickling you, I'll eventually stop. I will go too, when I think it's time. I'll smile if I want to. And if I'm in the Choir, you won't need to preach to me to get me to sing. It's what I signed up for. As for shutup, well that's just never gonna happen, unless I happen to be singing and you roll your eyes. But enjoy? Please don't make me. Let me decide when, where, how for myself, ok?

Having waitressed a summer myself back in the long ago, I have wondered if I had ever resorted to the E word myself. Guilt is the code I live by. Even though my memory is on permanent vacation, I am certain that we had no such verbal shorthand back in the day. "Can I bring you anything else?"- maybe. Or  "Let me know how you like it"/"I'll check and see how you're doing in a few minutes"/ "I'm pretty sure the cook didn't really spit in this/ "Belly up"/"Want fries with that?"  Who knows. Whatever the situation, or people at the table warranted. Anything that was beyond the little routine one size fits all blurt.

What's wrong, after all, with the possibility of not enjoying one's chosen meal? Less than substantial tip?

Last month, against all odds, we were out on the town, daunted though I was to be once more ensconced in the familiar arms of a public eatery. Too soon after we ordered, the waitress reappeared with our food. Whoa, I hadn't had time to take a yoga breath. The moment of truth, and no Zen back up. When she opened her mouth, I cringed. Then a soft "Hope you like it." Stop the presses! Are we no longer in America?? Tears came to my eyes. I could barely lift my fork. Swallow? Beyond the pale. I was overcome with sheer joy! Remarkably, I found myself unexpectedly "in joy" in spite of myself. Imagine that.

I know it goes against the grain. Here we have the ubiquitous Stepford servers, who are all programmed to mindlessly mimic each other and endlessly cajole us with their two syllable admonishment. And then out of nowhere, a breath of fresh air. Lo and behold. A thinking person. A far cry from the maddening crowd. At long last, I have hope again.

And did I mention she got quite the generous, heartfelt tip?

(Still and all, it's enough to make a vegetarian like me consider going to McDonald's where I only have to handle the cashier's robotic "Have a nice day!" -  Don't even get me started!)

Drunk Again

OK, the truth. I have NEVER had a drink in my life. I HAVE felt really, really happy tho, after the muscle relaxant they gave me in the Hospital following a complicated, dangerous birth. If only that were OTC, I would be a life long addict by now.

What I am addicted to at present is the scent of the voluptuous star jasmine that drapes the iron fence on the front and side of Afton's yard. OMN! Such utter bliss! SOCAL is absolute Paradise-with the ocean, the breeze, the lush palm/bouganvillea backdrops. But to even have the fragrance straight from Heaven. How sweet it is!

Beige Flowers

SO my daughter has not exactly been world renowned for her optic prowess for a few decades now. And today, Afton earned another feather in her cap when a bouquet of flowers was delivered to her door. I thanked the florist delivery guy and turned to bring the red roses in to her. It was not however, a gasp of delight that escaped her lips, but a gasp of puzzlement, utter bewilderment. She smiled, and asked, "But what are those flowers in the middle? The beige ones." I smiled back at her. "Those big beige ones? They're a TEDDY BEAR, Afton, a flippin' 12 inch TEDDY BEAR!"

Did I mention she's blind? And blonde??

So this very sophisticated knockout girl, Mattie, proved herself yesterday to be something else as well.




Mattie's First Track Meet



More than just a pretty face,
Little girl? Not a trace.

Moved ahead and set the pace,
Took the challenge, full of grace.

With Grauer team, proved her case,
Won the meet---of course,
our Ace!




So proud of you, Mattie! You can do anything!!!!

Love you!!!

The Fairy Godmothers Three

Used to be every fairy tale had a fairy Godmother around to ensure a twist with a happy ending. Nowadays you need oh, let's say roughly 3 incredibly beautiful and talented and relentlessly determined Aunts to make dreams come true and turn one's home into a haven. Make that castle! Introducing the Extraordinary Invincibles---the Terrific TL twins (Treesje Lyndell & Torrey Leeann) and the one and only Wild & Winsome Willow Adair---who have DONE IT AGAIN!

With magic in every finger, major muscle in every move, with indefatigable energy, endless patience, and love unfeigned, they rode into town and ON THEIR VACATION left their cushy Four Seasons digs in the dust, and spent Thursday night until 3 AM! and Friday night until almost 2 AM! working themselves into the ground to switch out niece Mattie's little girl's bedroom to the other upstairs bedroom and create a cool teenage hangout for her and her friends, and an inviting guest room to boot. WHO DOES THAT? Not to mention the AMAZING Mattie & Maya combination, who unflinchingly, with nary a complaint, kept up the pace both nights and WORKED, WORKED, WORKED. Kudos to the sons & son-in-laws who pitched in with muscle and kid duty to make it all happen as well. On the third evening, the big wind up---they all came together, it all came together, and together all said, "It is good." Enough feelings of accomplishment to last, say, a decade or two?


And what a perfect transformation! Last October was Afton's turn to get a gorgeous and sophisticated living room and family room as the girls worked their magic. This was in many ways even a bigger coup, and dramatic change! Move over, Extreme Home Makeover--the Sleight girls are on a rampage! Hope for a weary world.

Happy for you, Mattie and Afton. Proud of all YOU did to make it happen---you deserve a happy place! Was it worth it?

Slumber party, anyone?

Traffic Jam in Nevada

Believe this? That's right---a pack of wild horses hogging the road! I was SURE I had died and gone to heaven! Blessed by missing the correct turn off (we were going to the one and a half million acre Desert National Wildlife Preserve at Corn Creek to look for birds and sheep), we kept speeding along until we wound up at Creech Air Force Base in the middle of nowhere and stopped to ask for directions. The clerk in the convenience store asked why we would want to do that when Cold Creek was so much better. We turned around and when we found the sign pointing there, we decided on a whim to investigate.

No sooner had we gone a mile than we saw definite signs of animal activity. And I don't mean tracks. Then another mile or so, and the mystery cleared. Lo and behold, wild horses! Yippeee!!!!!!!!!!!! Never dreamed I could actually see them in the flesh, although I have read about them in Nevada. We were less than 20 miles up the road (the 95) from Vegas, and a world away.

They obviously were accustomed to humans (or aliens; how far is this from Area 51, after all?) as they showed no fear, and took their time to move over and share the road. I got out of the car a few times and approached different groups of them as we moseyed up to Cold Creek. They were curious, yet reserved. I did get to stroke a couple of them, but only for a second. Next time, I'm bringing apples!


Anyway, it was a huge thrill for a longtime wannabe Cowgirl/Indian Princess, and the gorgeous glorious sky and pristine snow covered mountain backdrop completed the perfect Western dreamscape. Oh, what a day!












Doesn't get any better than this, does it?

"To Err Is Human, To Forgive Canine"

Never thought of myself as an animal advocate to any great degree. But then, why else am I vegetarian in the first place? The book, Diet For A New America, surely changed my perspective back when, 15 years ago?

But I have pretty much been a quiet, make-no-waves crusader, content with changing only me. However, now I'm MAD!

I read this morning about a dog in Colorado being stolen from his owner's car by a woman who then asked her brother to get rid of the dog for her. He obliged by putting a rope around the German Shepherd's neck and tying him up to his truck and taking the dog for a 3 mile joy ride of sorts. The Denver Post reported “the dog was forced to run up and around steep hills at the Colorado National Monument near Grand Junction before it was dragged when it couldn’t keep up.” Paw prints in the snow were found to show Buddy at first walking, then running, then being dragged, for 3 miles. Buddy’s body was found with the rope still tied around his neck on a snowy road.

"'Demand Justice For Buddy' is a group formed to support the prosecution of Steven Romero, his sister, and anyone else involved with this senseless kidnapping and brutal murder. There is a petition being delivered to the prosecuting attorney in Grand Junction, CO, Jan.27 at 3 p.m. and again before each trial date for Romero. 'We want to get the maximum penalty the law allows. We support the US attorneys office to ask for the longest prison sentence possible.'"


SIGN PETITION AT: http://www.thepetitionsite.com/6/demand-justice-for-buddys-killer

I also joined the facebook group, To Honor Buddy "Tell 'Em Buddy Sent You" http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=236330769299&ref
"'Do It For Buddy' will truly honor Buddy. He was a shelter dog who was rescued by the Lebers and lived 4.5 happy years in their home with Joe and Sacha and their three heartbroken children. In Buddy's name, we ask that each of you please donate food, blankets, toys, pillows, cash and/or volunteer your time to your local animal shelters. Please tell them 'Buddy sent You.'"

I know this follows on the heels of my outburst at Michael Vick's Hero Award, which I consider the ultimate farce of the year (and wow, look at all that great competition), despite flack from my son that I am obviously against forgiveness and all things good, and bright, and beautiful.

Not so (according to me). Forgiveness in no way overlooks the problem created by a careless mistake or hardcore hatred. And it doesn't pay for the damages either. I believe payment, on whatever level, is what we call a consequence. If I smash into your car, whether you forgive me or not, I expect I'll have to pay to fix or replace it, no? (unless you live in S. Utah, where I guess you just slither off into the shadows when you wreck cars and let the wreckee deal with it...and to think, I almost was going to live there--yuk; but that's another story, and I digress).

The point is of course, we will all be happier forgiving others, but not letting them get away with things. In point of fact, Vick only served a very short time. He served time only for federal charges (the illegality of the dogfighting operation), NOT amazingly enough for animal cruelty. May I remind you in his acceptance speech (last post) he presented himself as the real victim while AT THE SAME TIME claiming to be stronger than 95% of the world population. (You may have noticed what easy lives most people in Haiti or Africa have, and they're black too...just spoiled, I guess).

Ok, touches my heart. Yours? The guy made a simple mistake. Like coloring outside the lines, using the wrong silverware at the Awards Banquet. His infallible Coach and teammates have given him a shot at the brass ring again. So he deserves a second chance. BTW, one that will make him hundreds of millions. Sweet. But an award for courage. Courage?

In that vein I would like to go ahead and nominate Adolph Hitler posthumously for the Nobel Peace Prize. Torture is torture. I figure the more dead, the bigger the award. Do I have it right now?

Rhymes With ICK! BOOOOOO Eagles!!!!!!

Honestly, I thought I was so above and beyond getting this upset, but when I found out last week that Michael Vick was receiving a Heroic Award for Courage, I LOST IT!!!!!

See what you think:
"The Courage Award Goes to...Michael Vick?
posted by: alicia graef(CARE2Causes)

Ed Block was considered a hero. He served in World War II, was awarded a Purple Heart, earned a master’s degree and worked to help neglected children and end the cycle of abuse.

The Ed Block Courage Award is now given to NFL players who show “commitments to the principles of sportsmanship and courage.”

The recipient of this award symbolizes professionalism, great strength and dedication. He is also a community role model. With this honor, he enters into an association which contrasts his fierce profession by becoming a major component of the Courage House National Support Network for Kids. He becomes an Ambassador of Courage for victims of abuse, violence and neglect.

In December members of the Eagles voted unanimously for Michael Vick to be the recipient of this prestigious award.

Huh?

This award is especially insulting considering recent evidence that was released by the USDA to wsbtv.com under the Freedom of Information Act in regards to Vick’s investigation.

Informants told investigators that Vick and two others strangled low performing dogs by hanging them from trees, drowning them in buckets of water -- one person holding the hind legs, another person holding the dog's head. They said Vick and two others also killed dogs with a shovel, shot them and in at least one case slammed a dog to the ground until it was dead.Vick and co-defendants Purnell Peace and Quanis Phillips "seemed to get an adrenaline high when killing the dogs," an informant said.

An award of this caliber is intended to put the recipient in a place where he can give a voice to the voiceless. It's intended to acknowledge a quality in human beings that we can all reach to attain. It was never intended to stroke the egos of hypocrites. Vick did exactly the type of thing Block took a stand against: abusing the weak and the innocent.

Congratulations to all of the other recipients who have overcome real obstacles and have become role models, like the Jacksonville Jaguars’ Richard Collier who was paralyzed as the result of a spinal cord injury, lost a leg and has since dedicated himself to being a speaker and role model for his area’s youth about personal responsibility and hopes to inspire positive changes.

Now that’s courage."

I checked it out and found more:

So what did Vick have to say?

"I've had to overcome a lot, more than probably one single individual can bear," Vick said. "Take a look at what I've been through. You ask certain people to walk in my shoes, they probably couldn't do it. Probably 95 percent of the people in this world -- because nobody had to endure what I've been through, situations I've been put in, situations I've placed myself in, decisions that I've made -- whether they were good or bad."

EXCUSE ME??? He's the victim? Not the dogs?? Aaaaaaaaaaggggghhhhhhh!


This made me ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS, so I contacted this now pathetic organization and said:

This travesty has just sown the seeds of your own demise. With no credulity left, your
organization has nowhere to go but downhill, and into oblivion.

Not only has this award become a pathetic joke, it has precipitated the exit of many from the halls of NFL fandom. Many will now find something worthwhile to do. Count me in on that.

Count me out of ever attending/watching NFL football again. Way to go Eagles. And what a sterling committee!

Sincerely,
Melinda Sleight

If it gets your blood boiling as well, here's how to let them know:
http://www.edblock.org/content/contact-us

Courthouse Shooting...Part II, Rest of the Story

(Photo by Sylvain GRANDADAM/Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images)

Got off on the wrong foot yesterday... I slept in a half hour later than I had planned to.  I had wanted to leave more than enough time to drive to downtown Las Vegas so I would be able to find parking and get to the Courthouse in plenty of time to report for Jury Duty.  Knowing the frustration I so often encounter with Vegas traffic, the frustration I have with my total lack of direction, and the frustration I have with being a relative invalid with my "recent" shattered heel that left me a bit impaired, I'd contemplated arriving the night before and just standing outside till the doors opened in the morning.  But, hey, this IS Vegas... I am well aware of the fact.  So I left half an hour later than I had intended.  A silly 30 minutes.

Ever wondered, "what if?"  For Christmas I bought my son-in-law a book that pursues that concept with the events of history.  I wondered a bit about the here and now possibilities as the day wore on and I was enmeshed in the aftermath of  shooting.  Had things gone as planned, I would have arrived at Court yesterday 30 silly minutes earlier--- in time to be on the scene as the gunman opened fire

In my mind's eye, I see myself jumping in front of him, holding out my hand and firmly telling him to give me the gun.  Immediately he acquiesces and no one is hurt! Tenderly I tell him everything will be ok now.  Having spontaneously intervened in a handful of violent physical episodes in my life (a rape, a knife fight, domestic confrontations) with no bruises and surprisingly good results, I figure this was a scenario meant to be.  Yes, I am certifiably more stupid than fearless, and I have been plain lucky.  But my imagination has to concede to the reality that my feet of clay (or my dedication to sleep), have led to this other bizarre outcome instead.  Under my breath, I excoriate my lapse.  Coulda, woulda, shoulda.  My theme song.

Then again, who's to say what is real and what is not?  As I was finally able to leave the surreality of the crime scene area yesterday, I was forced to wend my way through streets that were not cordoned off.  Bonneville was the name of the street that I followed for several blocks and where I encountered the underbelly of Vegas society.  

And then I saw him.  Elvis.  In white bell bottoms, shirt, and cape.  Bejeweled with glittering red orange chains and embellishments, the trademark black pompadour and dark glasses.  The black fanny pack?  Hmmmm.  Much, much shorter than I ever remembered him and a lot less appealing, nevertheless there he was in the flesh.  What else?

The reality is this is Vegas, this is life, this is death, and beyond.  All improv.  The good, the bad, the bizarre.  All of this just is.  And so it goes.  Viva Las Vegas.  Bring your camera.

"Hell of a Morning for Jury Duty"--- Las Vegas Courthouse Shooting

1,050 × 700

 Las Vegas Review-Journal

"Hell of a morning for jury duty," exclaimed the guy who videoed the area of the shooting at the Las Vegas Courthouse today.  You heard his observation on the YouTube posting, while listening to all the shots fired in the building.  For the families of those who died and were injured, ever will that be the most painful sound.

But he was right--- it was the wrong day for jury duty downtown.  Who knew?  I carried the summons in my hand as I walked toward the Courthouse with two other jurors I had just met in the garage elevator.  Soon we were interrupted by a man going the other way, "They're evacuating the Courthouse.  Just get out of here."

What?  No way did I get ready and make it all this way to turn around and leave.  At least not without some official dispensation so I wouldn't be arrested for no show or have to come back another time.  But as we approached the front of the building, and saw the gathering crowd, the wailing police sirens began to sound serious.  The sight of the police in front of the doors with rifles pointed, then soon the thundering herd of helicopters above, presented irrefutable evidence that this was not to be just another ordinary Monday morning.

One of the women I was walking with visibly paled and turned around, scurrying back to her car.  Another I encountered en route, Jane, and I determined to wait, find out what was going on, and what would be expected of us.  Bits and pieces of rumors filtered among us as we waited at the bottom of the steps.  Apparently two Federal Marshalls had been shot and killed; then it was one, then four, then the gunman had been shot in the head and killed across the street as he fled.  Then we weren't sure anyone had died.  Then we were.  First it seemed it was a lone gunman, then another had been apprehended and the area was being scoured for two more accomplices.

As time went on, it seemed strange all those law enforcement officers remained silent, and a few people would file out of the courthouse now and then.  It's a different world now because of the ubiquitous cell phone, because you can reach out and find friends and family who have access to media information that is unavailable to you when in the midst of something.  So soon the consensus was that someone had been shot and the gunman was down.

After an hour or so, finally an officer addressed us through the bullhorn.  Different protocols for different situations.  Don't quote me on this, but I think he said if you were there for a criminal case, your case was dismissed as of now.  I guess crime pays sometimes!  For those there about a civil case, the court would contact you in 2 weeks.  If you were there for this reason or that reason, whatever reason, you could leave.  Finally, he said if you were there as a juror, move to the side of the steps.  There an official let us know that no one had the authority to dismiss us except for a Judge.  Soon they would poll the Judges and see which of them would choose to hear cases if and when the building was secure enough.  So the attorneys walked, the criminals walked, the plaintiffs and defendants walked, but the jury was plain out of luck?  Justice isn't blind, she winks.  We were told that we could walk a couple of blocks to B of A, where there would be coffee (Starbucks) and restrooms. All buildings for several blocks were on lockdown, so our options were few to none.

Before 10, we returned to the Courthouse steps and were told that a decision would be made by 11:30 and we could call the Court to see whether we would a) be just dismissed with our obligation fulfilled, b) need to return tomorrow, or c) be summoned another time.   Oh, and "by the way", all the streets were still sealed off, and the parking garage on lockdown... so not like most of us could be going anywhere anytime soon.  Jane and I walked back to Starbucks to wait it out.  The weather was beautiful, but we sat inside where the omnipresent helicopters and police cars were less obtrusive and we could hear ourselves talk. We had a nice visit about everything but the surreal situation surrounding us.  Denial being what it is.  What a diametrically opposed experience to what the families of the victims were going through at the same time.  How is it that some people are dancing or relaxing or marrying when others are grieving, suffering, weeping at the same time?  Isn't this a strange, strange world?

When I called the Court on my cell and found out they would send out another summons for another day, I was chagrined.  No way did I want to come back to this place at another time.  I was defensive about the effort I had made to even be in town at this time, to make the trip downtown, to limp a few blocks to the Courthouse from the parking garage, to be one of those who did stick around for hours just in case.  All for nothing.  I know.  Me, me, me.

But my attitude changed a little as I drove away, down a few more blocks through the seediest of neighborhoods.  Seeing the really down and out hovering on the streets was another kind of sobering experience.  What they have to go through, and go without, made any inconvenience I imagined more than trivial.  Later, I learned that the man who caused all the drama and trauma this morning was a disgruntled old geezer who was angry about having his Social Security payments reduced when he moved from California to Nevada (he'd lost a Court case protesting this).  I wondered if he'd just taken a little drive through the neighborhood here, if he might not have changed his mind, and counted himself among the lucky ones.  Or was this perhaps his neighborhood?  What made him choose this battle?

Then I remembered listening to a man tell his story on NPR just this morning as I turned off the freeway to find parking.  He was born with a congenital disease that kills most children before the age of 2.  All his life he had lived in a wheelchair.  All his life.  His body betrayed him more and more everyday of his life, muscles wasting away--- he could no longer even hold a pencil.  People would sometimes tell him, "If I were you, I would kill myself."  Although he felt they likely meant that as a compliment, implying that he had exceptional courage to deal with all he had on his plate, he sometimes felt like replying, "Why, if I were you, I would try to kill myself."   But inside he has always felt he was one of the lucky ones.  Now with a great wife and two wonderful daughters, his life is full.  Did I mention he graduated from Harvard?

How do some of us choose to really live life against all odds, and others to kill and be killed?  More to the story:

https://lasvegassun.com/news/2010/jan/05/news-conference-scheduled-federal-courthouse/

How's your attitude? Mine?

More tomorrow.........................